


certains héros portent des capes

by helplesslynerdy



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a good dad, Ethical Dilemmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23512396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helplesslynerdy/pseuds/helplesslynerdy
Summary: A father has a conversation with his son.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 29
Kudos: 204





	certains héros portent des capes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [androbeaurepaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/androbeaurepaire/gifts).



“...You must blame the Fates that it was I who loved you and not Sir Ivanhoe. But you were always mine- and _only_ mine. God keep you.”

“What the **fuck**?” 

“Jason...” Bruce turns to his boy that’s angrily burritoed in a fluffy red blanket in the middle of the couch. 

“He’s a complete bag of dicks!” Jason reaches towards the television, the amorphous red of his arm gesturing helplessly as if to convince the filmmakers the wrongs of dialogue decades old. “How does Rebecca belong to ‘im? He’s done nothin’ but be an ol’ creep that wanted her dead!”

Bruce snorts. “Yes, but you have to think that this wasn’t written, or filmed even, in the most progressive of times.”

A huff lifts the edge of the blanket from Jason’s face. “Least Ivanhoe killed ‘im.”

As Jason peers from the blanket, Bruce lifts his elevated ankle from the chaise section of the couch, grimacing as he flexes it and lays it back down.

“C’mon, B.” A few cold popcorn kernels launch towards Bruce’s face- which he bats off without even turning towards Jason. Damn his ninja reflexes. A raised eyebrow also eloquently denotes that Jason **will** be cleaning up after himself. With an eye roll, he grabs them off the couch, dropping them in his own nigh-empty bowl. “Even if we don’t off these guys, you gotta admit that some of these gems deserve a good pop in the nose. Or three.”

“Deserve?” Bruce leans his head back on the couch, eyes to the ceiling. He chuckles mirthlessly. “As Alfred says, ‘Heaven help us if we get what we actually deserve.’”

“You’re telling me that you don’t enjoy punchin’ guys who hurt women? _Kids_?” The blanket falls to reveal a mass of curls and flashing hazel eyes. 

The left side of Bruce’s lips upticks ruefully. “Jason, you know I’m far from perfect.” 

Jason clutches his chest near his heart, falling backwards with a loud gasp. Bruce, rolling his eyes, grabs one of his groaning boy’s flailing elbows, pulling him aright. “Ha ha.”

“B, I gotta mark this day down. I never thought I’d live to see the day where Gazillionaire Grump Wayne admits his flaws, but here we- _oof_ B! C’mon!” Jason tries to squirm his way out of the headlock he’s (admittedly gently, yet firmly) caught in. “Lemme go!”

“Just listen to me for a bit.” Jason sighs his displeasure, but stops fidgeting in Bruce’s grasp. Bruce kisses the top of his head before releasing him, which Jason rubs away, but with reddened cheeks and a smile.

“Okay, okaaaaaay. I’m listening, old man.”

Bruce leans back into the corner of the couch, gingerly moving his ankle so that he can better face Jason. “There were times, especially when I started out in a leather jacket and a ski mask, that I felt that way. Each punch was for...that night. Each kick was to take out the solar plexus of that... _person_ that stole my life from me.” He draws his hand down from the base of his nose to his chin, eyes unfocused. “I was...angry. Hurt. I didn’t talk to anyone, not even Alfred. It wasn’t the healthiest way to cope.”

“But somethin’ changed,” Jason says, but it isn’t a question. He shrugs. “You can be a scary SOB in the suit, but you are always in control.”

“Hnnn.” He gives a half-smile, ruffling Jason’s hair. “I try to be.”

Instead of batting Bruce’s hand away, Jason takes in into both of his, thumbs nudging the healed scars absently. “So what did it?”

“I actually wasn’t in costume. A couple of years after I became the Bat, I was at the re-opening of the group home that my parents built that had needed renovations. One of the kids ran by, a threadbare black blanket tied around his face and neck- shouting that he was Batman.” Bruce shakes his head. “The boys started an argument over how Batman didn’t kill people, he- “ Bruce sucks in a sharp breath. “He protects them.” 

Jason turns Bruce’s hand over, lets him gather his thoughts.

“It woke me up. I wanted to keep people from going through what I had been through, sure, but I hadn’t banked on it becoming...more. The Bat wasn’t just to keep criminals in line- he brought _hope_. And it- it just changed how I viewed things. And the older I got-“

“You **are** old.”

“Shh. I’m _wizened._ The older I got,” He narrows his eyes to discourage another jab. “...the more I realized that criminals were often people who had lost that hope. That they felt that there was no other way for them to provide for themselves or their families.”

Jason’s jaw clenches. “But some of those assholes are really hurting people. A shit childhood doesn’t excuse it. Sometimes they won’t learn.”

“And that’s why we have the law to step in- as imperfect as it can be. I can’t be judge and jury- I’m just there to try and make sure people are safe.”

“But-“

“Yes, some people are doing wrong and they can’t be allowed to live in society anymore, but for most criminals- I can’t just deal out punishments.”

Jason looks up at him skeptically.

“Okay, then- let’s say that a thief steals the tires off the Batmobile, hits the Bat hard enough with a tire iron to crack a couple of ribs, and keeps him from potentially saving others.”

Jason’s eyes well up, and he moves to stand. Bruce grasps around his wrists, but loosely enough that Jason could shake him off easily. “Listen to me. I would rather err on the side of mercy and hope-“ He cradles Jason’s cheek and catches a stray tear with his thumb, “...and have that little thief become one of the most precious people in the world to me, than to deal out vigilante justice based on uninformed, snap judgments.”

At Jason’s choked sob, Bruce pulls his son towards him, tugging him in tight to his unhurt side. “I love you very, very much. I know I don’t say it enough, but-“

“I know, B.” Jason sniffs, face nuzzling in closer. “...luhya too.”

“What was that?”

Another shake of his head.

Bruce pokes Jason in the side, unerringly right where he’s most ticklish. “DAD!”

A pause. Bruce gives his dry throat a couple of seconds to clear. Now, his voice is softer, warmer. “You mind trying that again?”

Jason moves his face away from where it was again buried in Bruce’s shirt. “I love you, Dad.”

A grin spreads slowly across Bruce’s face. He tightens the arm around Jason’s shoulder, and his other hand reaches up to hold Jason’s face tighter to his side.

All Jason can manage is an indignant squawk.

“Yup, tell that to my ribs. Sometimes love hurts.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @audreycritter for the great ideas.
> 
> Happy birthday, Andro. <3
> 
> The beginning quote is from the 1952 film, _Ivanhoe_.


End file.
